Final Evil: Umbrella Chronicles
by WedgePalmer
Summary: Umbrella has become the worlds largest supercompany, controlling pretty much everything. With twisted mutants and the undead roaming the world, people are forced to come to them for support. Can a small rebellion save humanity? FF7 Resident evil crossove


**Author's note: I like to listen to music whilst I write, and I think it helps if the readers listen to music too. It sorta sets the scene. The music for this chapter is none other than...the FFVII opening tune, "_Bombing Mission_"**.

**Anyway; this is my first (and probably only) X-over fic so enjoy if you can, and all comments are appreciated (just don't flame too much).**

The little train clattered along the rusted, iron track and came to a screeching halt at a plain, concrete platform. It was devoid of any advertisements or decoration. The only colour was a large logo, in red and white, painted on the floor. There was silence for a few seconds, and no-one emerged from the vehicle. Two men, standing in the shadows by the only staircase out of the station stepped forward smartly. They wore tight, black jumpsuits and featureless helmets that looked like motorcycle headgear. The only logo on their uniform was the red-and-white crest from the floor, stamped onto their shoulders. Both had stun batons swinging idly from their gloved hands, and each was equipped with a submachine gun which was attached to their belt. The first Umbrella Sentry strolled towards the locomotive, baton beating a tune on his thigh, and rapped on the driver's door. No response. He glanced over at his counterpart, who shrugged, and then reached for the door handle. The door swung smoothly on its hinges, and something fell from the entrance and knocked the man backwards. It was a corpse, dressed in the same black uniform as them, but with no helmet. It was possible to see the single, round bullet wound in his forehead. The guard half turned to shout a warning to his comrade, but was felled by a blow to the back of his neck. There was a sickening crunch as it broke, and he slumped to the ground. The other man reached for the handle of his gun, but a muscular arm gripped him round the neck, twisted sharply and released him. The two guards were dead, and their killers signelled the other passengers on the train to come out.

The first of the two killers was a man in his early twenties with jet-black hair in a ponytail, and a red headband tied over his forehead. His eyes were a serious iron-grey and his nose was thin and pointed. He wore a pair of Cargo-pants, with deep pockets, hiking boots and what appeared to be a police-issue bulletproof jacket on top of a khaki top. He looked down at the guard he had killed and then over to his counterpart by the locomotive. She was a shorter woman with a light-brown ponytail, a purple sweatband with a picture of a marshmallow with an anime-style face on it and a pair of specticles on her nose. Her lithe form was encased in a set of green shorts and a khaki jacket. She had killed her guard by pistol-whipping him in the spine/neck. She houlstered her glock and patted down the guard's armour, before pilfering the submachine gun and taking up position by the door. Biggs, the man with the black ponytail, unhooked a police-issue pump-action shotgun from its strap on his back and followed suit. As if on cue, as the two watched the door, a third intruder hopped down from the door to one of the train cars. He was about the same age as the woman; twenty to twenty-three, and was a little overweight. He was dressed in a set of khaki trousers, a jacket similar to the one which the woman wore and a pair of hiking boots. He had a pair of leather belts with ammunition slotted into them slung over his chest, and a mangnum clutched in one meaty fist. The final adornment was a black bandanna over his head, above his soft brown eyes. He glanced at the woman nervously, as though for reassurance, and she smiled warmly at him. He hurried to cover behind a concrete pillar as a fourth person leapt from the car.

Barrett Wallace was an giant of a man. He was black, with a Mr-T style mohawk and beard and a torn biker's jacket and jeans. On top of the jacket, he wore a bullet-proof vest; police-issue like Biggs' one. His left hand curled into a fist as he glared down at the Umbrella logo on the station floor. His right hand may have done so too, if he had had one. Instead, he had a chunky, powerful-looking assault gun grafted onto his wrist stump. When he spoke, his voice ground like a rusty chainsaw:

"Move out" he growled "kill anyone who resists you. No mercy for Umbrella..."

The three team members hurried on through the doorway, into the research station. After a few seconds, the sound of gunfire echoed back to him. Barrett smiled properly for the first time in four years. The rebellion had begun.

A sudden noise behind him made him turn. One of the guards they had killed to hijack the tram wasn't really dead. He was standing, clutching a chest-wound with one hand and aiming at Barrett with his handgun with the other. The Rebel leader half-raised his gun-arm when there came a sickening 'thock', like a knife cutting meat. The helmeted head of the soldier rolled from his neck and clattered to the floor and the handgun tumbled from his limp grasp. The decapitated body slumped to one side.

"You took your time..." Barrett grunted, turning from his unseen rescuer.

"Yeah well, you know me" an arrogant-sounding voice chuckled from the shadowy interior of the carriage "I like to make a scene..."

"Just get your ass out here so we can join the others inside the Base, fool."

For a moment, nothing happened, then a tall, thin man emerged from the train. He had blonde hair that hung in front of his face in a long fringe, and piercing green eyes. He wore dark blue trousers and the same sort of armour that the dead guards wore. On top of this, he had on a long, tan leather coat with a slit up the back. A complicated-looking set of belts made up a crude sword-sheath on his back; but the weapon in question was gripped in his right hand. It was about a metre long, with a wickedly-sharp blade and slightly hooked end. The hilt was an elaborately-carved Umbrella symbol, which Barrett eyed angrily.

"Come on, fool. Keep it moving." he snapped, turning and striding through the open station doors.

Leon Kennedy shrugged, sheathed his blade and followed him, his fur-trimmed aviators coat flapping behind him.

**What did you think? Please review, and I look forward to reading them. Oh and don't worry. There will be zombies soon; lots of them....**

**...lots and lots of them...  
**


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